


roundabout

by mistyviolin



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Angst, Gen, Time Loop, agent 8 pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 07:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyviolin/pseuds/mistyviolin
Summary: Agent Eight has completed all these tests before. And yet some still elude him, and his ultimate reward still lies too far out of reach.





	roundabout

**Author's Note:**

> Octo Expansion devs pretty much confirmed that if you die during the escape phases, Agent Eight just... dies and if you decide to keep playing, it just goes back in time to before you died.
> 
> I'm a sucker for time loop angst so here we are! Agent Eight remembers previous loops and stuff.
> 
> (Also inspired from my personal experience replaying Octo Expansion. There are some stages I have no idea how I beat them the first time around.)

"No no no, _no_!"

 

Agent Eight frantically fires the poor excuse for a charger in his hands, but the damage is already done. The Bamboozler clatters to the ground, and Eight falls to his knees and watches as the 8-ball tumbles off the ink sponge into the depths below.

He gives a dry laugh that borders on hysteria. He might as well just follow the damn thing at this point.

C.Q. Cumber's unmistakable, flat murmur filters through the static in his earpiece. Eight's claws dig into his palms, and his back already burns.

"You let an 8-ball fall- test failed."

Then Eight only feels searing heat- like the sun itself supernovas from the small package strapped to his ink tank. It is merciful in that it is brief, but Eight has long gotten past the emotional duress of quite literally being blown into bits. Instead he bristles, and cusses low in his throat in Octarian as he respawns at the station's Equipper.

"Language," chides Marina, and just to spite her he cusses again but in Inkish. Pearl taught him that one.

"Eight, c'mon," Marina tries to scold him but he can hear Pearl cheering in the background. He would be more amused if he hadn't just failed this test, again. His tentacle curls and undulates with poorly repressed rage. C.Q. Cumber watches him as he taps his foot on the Equipper, trying to settle himself before he tries the test again. But his ink feels like it is boiling inside him and Eight becomes increasingly antsy. He wants to punch something, and it might be whoever opens their mouth next.

C.Q. Cumber extends a carefully neutral tendril. "10,008, it may be in your best interest to return to this station at another time.."

With almost no hesitation Eight turns on C.Q. like a hawk on its prey. "I'll decide what's best for me, but thanks for the fucking input," he downright hisses, and bares his teeth. Eight feels an itch, one that he so desperately wants to scratch. He presses his claws into his forearm.

"Yo, Eight, let's just forget this one and come back to it later. Let's do one you like instead. Like uh.. the cube. Y'know? The one with the uh.. ah, what's it.." Pearl rambles on in his ear and Eight's frustration only grows.

"The eight data points," clarifies Marina. "It's not a bad idea. You'll rack up some extra points and it'll calm you down. You'll always have another chance to pass this test," and Eight simply cannot take this coddling, all of these empty words he has heard a thousand lifetimes before.

"No! No, I won't! It doesn't matter!" Eight bites back, the poison sharp and potent in his tone. His face feels hot and he knows he's about to start crying- out of frustration, anger, or desperation was anyone's guess. "You don't get it, none of you do! I've done this stupid test already. I've done it enough. I've already passed it. Why can't I pass it again!"

His earpiece is silent. He knows none of what he said makes sense, not even to C.Q. Cumber. He probably looks and sounds delirious and no one is apt to believe what he said in all seriousness. He doesn't care. Eight has already seen this, has already lived this exact conversation over and over. 

He always finds the four thangs, in the end. No matter what he does he ends up in that godforsaken blender. Once he tried to run- sea angels forced him and Cuttlefish in. He hasn't died in that blender, yet- Agent Three always appears in the nick of time, knocked unconscious by the time it's over.

It's in the stages afterwards that Eight finds a new demise- swimming a little too fast and caught by Octarian guards, crushed by the Octoseeker, slingshot into the abyss by Rolonium. Overestimating the Inkjet's ability to gain altitude. Failing to protect the power core. Lasers.

The farthest he has ever gotten is Agent Three with that awful, warped and discolored sludge adhered around his right eye. But there, Three has pulverized him in every manner imaginable.

Exploding Baller. Stingray. Countless Splashdowns. 

Agent Eight does not win, regardless. He has yet to see the actual sun and not the pale imitations inside test facilities.

He sobs outright and curls up on top of the Equipper. All Eight can think of is the smell of the ocean at low tide- the stink of salt and methane, of decomposing organisms.

He remembers the scent. He thinks of the sanitized Octarians. He thinks of Agent Three.

Ah. He realizes. The scent of death.

He thinks of himself. Does he already smell like brine? Or will he start noticing closer to the end, where he finds a new way to die? When he inevitably reawakens in that abandoned, downtrodden subway where he began, will the sea breeze be fresh in his memory, a memento of his last life's last moments?

Eight wails, and Marina says something softly in his ear. C.Q. seems lost on whethere he should retreat or approach.

"I just want to see the sun," Eight cries, a broken mantra that nevertheless remains true from the first time he thought it, all those lifetimes ago, where the Octarian army was still home. Where Agent Three was still a menace to Octarian society- where Octavio was still the Octobot King. Where Octavio was still a father. 

Eight shakes harder as he tries to hum Calamari Inkantation. He tucks into himself more, ignoring the words of comfort coming from his earpiece. He will be fine, just as he has been before.

He just needs a moment here. He needs to grieve. And then maybe this time is it- maybe this is the world where he finally sees the sun, and he never has to think of the Deepsea Metro again.

It has to be it. This has to be it.


End file.
